


The Revenge of The Fallen

by arpita



Category: Mahabharata - Vyasa, महाभारत | Mahabharat (TV 2013)
Genre: Aftermath, Deaths, F/M, Gen, Oaths, Vows, War, renunciation, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arpita/pseuds/arpita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was what his life asked of him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>Obedience.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>Obedience, to his stepmother, Satyavati, who was the reason behind his vow of eternal celibacy.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>So that he could satisfy his father's fascination towards her.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>And tonight,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em></em><br/><strong>Tonight she had ordered him to present the ethereally beautiful, Gandhara Princess with a proposal to wed his blind nephew.</strong><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Revenge of The Fallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [ALannister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALannister/gifts), [geethr75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geethr75/gifts).



> This is a work of fiction, woven around facts, retellings, and folktales. Comments, criticism, evaluations, and corrections are all heartily welcomed.

_**"TO HELL WITH YOU, AND THE ACCURSED KURUS!"**_ the boy spat right into the Gangadatta's face.

  
  
  
  


Bhishma stared at him, his words failing him at the audacity of the Crown Prince of the region of Gandhara.

  
  


_"Sheathe your weapons!"_ he instructed the incensed soldiers who had their swords and lancets drawn to pierce them through the entrails of the man who had dared to spit at their pious, invincible general.

  
  
  
  


**"Sheathe your weapons! _AM I UNCLEAR IN ANYWAY!"_** he boomed, urging them to concur, in action, much to their resentment.

  
  
  
  
  


The boy smiled, an acrimonious, smile of sarcasm, intended to belittle the Grand Regent of Hastinapur.

  
  


_"Does my affront scare the mighty Gangadatta?!"_ he spoke, his voice as venomous as the sting of a scorpion.

  
  
  


Bhishma still did not reply. This was what his life of eternal renunciation was composed of, gory, gruesome battles, and their relics. All this, in consonance with the fulfilment of his duty as a regent to the powerful empire of Hastinapur. His pious life of a warrior did not have a shred of space for peace and tranquility.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The region of Gandhara was in flames, after their siege. The unconquerable area, situated at the far end of the north, which had a history of teaching unforgettable lessons to its invaders, had been invaded, and stripped of its protection. The boy standing in front of him, stood fearlessly so, because he had nothing to lose. His father, the former king of Gandhara was dead and his motherland had been ravished of every ounce of peace and beauty it had, and perhaps would ever possess.

  
  
  


The war camp was still blazing, prisoners were being thrust in like gamebirds after a hunt.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  
  


Meanwhile, there arose a fresh mayhem outside Bhishma's tent.

  
  
  


"Your Excellency!" a foot-soldier came panting, "Please come outside!"

  
  
  


"What is it?" Bhishma asked.

  
  
  


"Please, Reverend!" the soldier puffed.

  
  
  
  


Bhishma complied to his request and exited the tent, as the other soldiers dragged their captive behind him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


What faced the Grand Regent was something that he had least expected to see, considering the situation they were in, for now.

  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  


_"STAND BACK!"_ she was saying, _ **"NOT A STEP FORWARD!"**_

  
  
  


**"DON'T YOU DARE LAY A FINGER ON HER! YOU, _SONS OF BITCHES!"_** the fallen Crown Prince of Gandhara, leapt forward like a caged tiger, trying to defy the iron chains that held him in a painful manacle.

  
  
  
  


Bhishma's eyes moved from the celestially beautiful girl, to a soldier lying in a pool of blood flowing from his throat, twitching in pain like a headless animal, does before its last breath, while the captive fruitlessly raged on to free himself to be able to protect his sister from the claws of the people who had ravished their country, and were now aiming to ravish their honour.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Suddenly, his eyes fell on a covered, fidgeting lump, quivering behind the girl's skirt. Bhishma moved forward, closer to the girl.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**"STAND BACK! I say! If you dare to move any further, this tears your heart as well!"** the girl leapt forward, pointing a dagger right at Bhishma's chest.

  
  
  
  
  


_As if that will harm me,_ he mused, wishing hard that it would.

  
  
  


Nevertheless, he forced his way past her, and uncovered the lump.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_This truly is a night of surprises_ , thought he.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  


The lump had revealed a little boy, barely older than five, seemingly a prince, by the manner of his ravaged attire, trembling in pain, clutching at his leg, lunging at the girl to hold her while he feebly supported himself on one leg.

  
  
  


The girl's beautiful fingers protectively clutched the child, while she positioned the dagger at the Grand Regent's heart.

  
  
  
  


"How many are there?" Bhishma inquired the soldier nearby.

"Apart from these, nine more, Your Excellency!" pat came the answer.

  
  
  


The girl's brother continued with his attempt to break open those chains that sagged his ripped, lean, muscular form.

  
  
  
  
  


**"Take all of them in!"** boomed the sonorous voice of Dandaketu, the sub-general of the state of Hastinapur.

_"NO! NO!"_ the divinely beautiful girl fell at the Gangadatta's feet, "Have mercy, Your lordship! Please spare my little brother! Slay me, if you have to, but please, spare him!" she pleaded, in a manner that would move a stone to mercy. "He is but a child!" she pleaded.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Plunder the land, raze the structures to the earth they rise from, kill the men who defend, or may rise to defend those, and claim their women_ , was the unsaid decree of the Kshatriya.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_The decree of the Kshatriya, what else did it warrant of him._

  
  
  
  
  


**"Take the boy to prison with his brothers!" **Dandaketu boomed, yet again, leading the soldiers to grab the child away from the protective grasp of his sister, while their eldest brother swore loudly.****

  
  
  
  
  
  


"And," he looked at the weeping girl, _"Lead the girl to a safehouse!"_

  
  
  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  
  


The siege of Gandhara had ended, and had left, a slew of curses in its wake. The eleven sons of the Gandhara king, Subala, had been imprisoned, and Dandaketu had sought them to be fed with the food which would serve as a meagre meal befitting the survival of one, so that they could all starve to death.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_But, the Gandhara blood was much smarter than they had ever imagined._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_The survival of one was much more preferable to the death of eleven,_ they concurred.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_And, that one would be enough to avenge their befallen glory._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_That one, would consecrate their land with the blood of the Kurus, and that of numerous other people of Bharata._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**That one, would lay the grounding block of the fall of the entire structure of Aryavarta. ******

  
  
  
  
  
  


_**One was enough, to lead to a holocaust that would sow the seeds of the downfall of everything.** _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_And, for that, he needed an instrument wrought with the relic of the destruction of their own land._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**He, their youngest brother, Shakuni, named after a hawk, would do that.**

  
  
  
  
  


" **Take these, dear brother,** " he said, shoving a pair of dice into the little boy's hand, chiselled from the thighbones of their dead father. _"And, use them well, when you deem fit."_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The boy nodded, in consonance.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  


The Grand Regent was at his wits end. Despite his feigned composure, his inner mind was utterly turbulent.

  
  
  
  
  


_This_ was what his life asked of him.

_Obedience._

_Obedience, to his stepmother, Satyavati, who was the reason behind his vow of eternal celibacy._

  
  
  
  


_So that he could satisfy his father's fascination towards her._

  
  
  
  


_And tonight,_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Tonight, she had ordered him to present the ethereally beautiful, Gandhara Princess with a proposal to wed his blind nephew._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


And, she would have no way out, but to agree, irrespective of the resentment her consent would hold.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_His vow, required him to bring misery to the exquisite creations of nature, like he had, years ago, when he had abducted the princesses of Kashi, to wed his step-brother, which had resulted in a spurned, chastised Amba, the eldest amongst them, who, in turn, had vowed to be his nemesis in her forthcoming birth._

  
  
  
  
  


_This_ was what he had entered into, when he had forsworn the pleasures of a life of worldliness.

  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  
  


He entered the dimly lit chamber that had held her.

"Princess!" he said.

  
  
  
  
  


She rose, her beauty shining through the irregularities that the war had caused her physical form.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_"Whose lust should I quench?"_ she asked him. 

  
  
  
  
  


Those words pierced him at a place which was invisible to the mundane, human eyes, tearing through his already torn soul.

  
  
  
  


He would have preferred death to those words, which had ten times the sting of those arrows that he had used to tear her land into shreds.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_"You did not answer me, Your Excellency."_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Claim their women, the unspoken decree of the Kshatriya_ , he thought to himself. He did not notice the girl's fingers move down to unfurl the other end of her robe. It was only when she flung it off that he took notice.

  
  


" **Daughter, what are you doing? **" he hoarsely blurted out, when he saw her standing with only a silken breastcloth, and her long, flowing skirt covering her modesty, as she stood with her exquisite shoulders, and her beautiful, narrow waist exposed to his eyes.****

  
  
  


_"Preparing myself to be devoured, isn't that what the law of the Kshatriya says?"_ she answered, sending the Grand Old Man in a chill.

  
  
  
  


"Daughter, please cover yourself. No one in this camp shall ever lay a finger on your honour!" he pleaded.

  
  
  
  
  


The Princess haughtily eyed him, wounding him to an extent no mundane weapon would ever dare to do to his hardened, war-torn exterior.

  
  
  
  


"Daughter," he spoke, trying to sound as normal, and endearing as his being would permit him to, "I have come here to seek your hand in marriage for my eldest nephew."

  
  
  
  


_"I do not have a choice, do I, Your Excellency."_ she said.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Bhishma closed his eyes, assuring himself that his tears were only seen by his mother, the Holy Ganga, who would take him unto his fold, someday, relieving him of his, so-called duties.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  


The city of Hastinapur was in a state of celebration, to commemorate the dual joys of the conquest of Gandhara, and the wedding of the eldest Prince of the Kurus.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But within the palace, there was a place wherein the aura of the festival did not strike root.

  
  
  
  
  


"Is it over?" the would-be bride expressionlessly inquired her attendants, who were arranging her bridal attire.

"Yes, Princess." she replied, before being sent away.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_She looked at her bejewelled reflection facing her. It looked like it wanted to vent those tears that those eyes held. Tears that were reflective of her submission, to the undesirable alliance that she would be bound in for an eternity. Tears that expressed her fear, which was elevated at every tongue that had clicked in sympathy, every voice that marvelled at the exotic gift of the prospective bride that the Grand Regent was making his blind nephew. Tears that bore her fear when she had seen her prospective husband, groping to feel her, blinking his sightless eyes._

  
  
  
  
  


_The women of Gandhara never cry,_  
  


_No, she wouldn't cry_. She couldn't disgrace her dead parents, brothers and the motherland in which she had grown.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Her hand moved to the dagger that lay before her. It had been bequeathed to her by her mother, so that she could use it for her defence, should anyone attempt to defile her.

  
  
  
  
  


Just when she was about to thrust the dagger to her breast, her eyes, fell on an inconspicuous kerchief, that had once belonged to her mother.

  
  
  
  


She put the dagger away, wondering why it held her attention, especially now.

  
  
  
  
  


_Nothing faces one without a purpose_ , her father's words rang in her ears.

  
  
  
  
  


_She was to wed a sightless man, against her will. Her country had been blown away to smithereens, her kin killed, by his kin._

  
  
  
  
  


She had to have answers, everyone was answerable to her.

  
  
  
  
  
  


And, _answers would come only if she would be alive, **since her life was too small a price to be paid for those answers.**_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Even if it warranted the eternal sacrifice of a magnanimous kind._

  
  
  
  
  


**Even if it warranted the eternal renunciation of her own sight.**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


So, slowly, and steadily, Gandhari put the dagger away, cast one last look at her own steady, stoic reflection urging her to act accordingly.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


And...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_**"BEHOLD THE GREATEST SACRIFICE A WOMAN CAN EVER MAKE, O MIGHTY KURU VAMSA. I KNOW NOT WHAT THIS WOULD LEAD TO, BUT SURELY, THIS WOULD HAVE SOME BEARING ON HISTORY!"**_ she said.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Her long, slender fingers, stretched towards her mother's kerchief to complete the sacrifice._


End file.
